


I used to live alone (before I knew you)

by wingedspirit



Series: Winter 2019 Prompts [16]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 31 Days of Ineffables Advent Calendar Challenge (Good Omens), 31 Days of Ineffables Advent Calendar Challenge 2019 (Good Omens), M/M, Unrepentant Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:01:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21837124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingedspirit/pseuds/wingedspirit
Summary: A conversation, late on a winter night.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Winter 2019 Prompts [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1560823
Comments: 9
Kudos: 139





	I used to live alone (before I knew you)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [drawlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drawlight)’s [advent calendar prompt list](https://drawlight.tumblr.com/post/188869931294/aziraphale-crowley-for-half-an-hour-youve-been) (day 16, ice storm).

Between the winter chill and the late hour, the streets are all but deserted by the time they make it back to Crowley’s place in Mayfair.

“Well,” Crowley says, awkwardly. “This is me. I’m guessing you’ll be headed back to the bookshop.”

Aziraphale hums, noncommittally. “Thank you, darling. I had a lovely evening.”

“You’re welcome. Um.” Crowley blushes, and stutters for a few moments. “I mean. I had a lovely time, too.”

They just look at each other for a while, in silence. Aziraphale half-expects Crowley to say something; but he doesn’t.

“Good night, then, my dear,” Aziraphale says, eventually, smiling.

Crowley stiffens, then relaxes and returns the smile. “Yes. Good night.”

They spend another long moment looking at each other, then Aziraphale turns away to leave; but he barely makes it a few steps before Crowley calls out to him again.

“Angel?”

Aziraphale turns back. “Yes?”

“Actually. Er.” Crowley looks sheepish. He’s taken off his glasses; his hands are stuck in his pockets, affecting casualness. “I was — on the news, this morning, they said there’s probably going to be a big ice storm tonight. Freezing rain, ice all over. Due to start soon, I reckon, you know how the weather is. Hate to think of you getting caught in it. You could stay at mine, if you like?”

Aziraphale looks up at the starry sky — perfectly clear, not a cloud in sight — and then back at Crowley. A half-dozen objections spring readily to his mind, and it sinks in, then, what Crowley is doing, what he’s been doing all evening, and all the time they’ve spent together after the averted Armageddon.

_There’s a new Italian restaurant, just opened, I’ve heard good things. Thought we might go for dinner, if you’re not busy._ When he’d known full well Aziraphale had nothing planned for the evening.

_I feel like I need a walk to digest, after all that food. Could use the company._ When he’d barely eaten anything, as was his usual.

_Too bloody cold tonight, ought to move to Spain or something, at least for winter, don’t know why I stay in this bloody country._ And Aziraphale had pulled off his own scarf and wrapped it around his neck; chided him for not dressing more appropriately, when he knows how cold winters get in London; wrapped an arm and an invisible wing around him to keep him warm, when before they’d been walking side by side but not touching.

It’s the same thing he’s always done, all through the many, many years they’ve known each other. He offers, but in such a way that he can easily deny having done so, having meant anything by it; in such a way that Aziraphale can easily say no.

And Aziraphale had, so often, said no; and the instinct to do so, to watch his back, to worry that someone might catch them, is still there. They’ve been in a relationship for months, now, but the habits born out of thousands of years of hiding are hard to shake.

But they don’t have to hide anymore. They can be just as they want to be — together.

And so Aziraphale steps closer to Crowley and reaches out, smoothing down the lapels of his jacket with his palms flat on his chest. “Crowley?”

“Yeah?” Crowley’s blush has returned with a vengeance.

Aziraphale grabs his scarf — _his_ scarf, which Crowley is still wearing — and wraps it around his hand a few times; and uses it to gently pull Crowley into a kiss. By the time they break apart, several minutes later, Crowley’s eyes are closed, and his blush has spread all the way to the tips of his ears.

“You can just ask me, you know,” Aziraphale says, softly, smiling.

“Mmmm,” Crowley says, opening his eyes. He looks rather dazed; it’s incredibly endearing. “I mean. What?”

“Ask me.”

“Oh?” Crowley blinks. “Oh. Oh! Would you — d’you want to come up? Or. Or, I mean, we can go back to the bookshop instead, if you’d rather, it’s — there’s not really going to be an ice storm, I was just — mmf!”

Aziraphale smiles into the kiss, one hand still wrapped around the scarf, the other coming up to cup Crowley’s face. It really is a delightfully effective way to shut Crowley up. “I know,” he murmurs, when they break apart again. “It’s alright. I’d love to.”

Crowley is looking at him with no small amount of wonder, and an amused curl to his mouth. “Someone’s eager.”

“Yes, well.” Aziraphale can feel his cheeks heat, even though he knows Crowley’s only teasing. Neither of them has any particular interest in moving the relationship beyond kissing; that’s not what this is about. “It’s only — I’d like to be with you all the time.” It feels like a dangerous confession, like it’s too big a truth to be said so soon; but if he is honest with himself, it’s something he’s been feeling for almost as long as he has memory, ever since he met Crowley.

Crowley takes in a sharp breath. “Move in with me,” he blurts out; and then shuts his mouth with a click, flushing anew, as if the words had escaped against his will.

Aziraphale stares, suddenly lost for words.

Crowley swallows. Cants his head, leaning into Aziraphale’s touch. Soldiers on. “I’ve been thinking the same. I don’t — much like being apart from you. I don’t care if it’s my place, or the bookshop, or — we can find somewhere new. Just — like you said. Be with me all the time. Nothing stopping us anymore, we can —”

Aziraphale tugs him into another kiss, clinging tightly, hoping the meaning will get through.

It must, because Crowley’s smiling brightly, by the end of it. “I take it that’s a yes,” he says, leaning his forehead against Aziraphale’s.

“Yes,” Aziraphale breathes, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. “I’d love to.”

“Good. Now let’s go inside, shall we? I’m freezing my arse off, here.”

Aziraphale can’t help himself. “What little remains of it after an earlier, unfortunate freezing-off accident?”

“Oi!” Crowley appears to be attempting to scowl; but he’s laughing, so he doesn’t really manage. “That’s not nice. We can’t all be soft, angel.”

“Perhaps if you had a little more meat on your bones, you wouldn’t be so cold all the time, dearest,” Aziraphale says, trying his best to sound reproachful and failing utterly.

“Well.” Crowley wraps an arm and an invisible wing around Aziraphale, as the angel had done for him earlier; holds him close as they move into the building. “You’ll just have to keep me warm, instead.”

Aziraphale smiles and leans his head against Crowley’s shoulder. “Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can visit my [Tumblr](https://wingedspirit.tumblr.com/), if you like.


End file.
